


Left Unsaid

by Jinniyah



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinniyah/pseuds/Jinniyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Fellowship leave Moria, Aragorn seeks a moment's relief from sorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Contains no demolition of Aragorn/Arwen, but does have a (totally non-canon) explanation as to why Aragorn can contemplate sex with Legolas without feeling guilty.

"Do you see any sign of pursuit?"

"No."  Legolas stood beside a tall birch tree, one hand outstretched and lightly resting upon its slender trunk, his far-seeing gaze remaining fixed on the great white peaks of Celebdil, Fanuidol and Caradhras. 

Aragorn released a breath he had not realised he was holding, and a little of the tension eased from his stance.  "Then maybe the Orcs are content now they have driven us from Moria." 

There was a short pause, and then Legolas said,  "Gimli stands watch over the Fellowship, Aragorn.  If there is no immediate danger, you would be wise to return to the glade and take some rest while you can." 

"It would be wise indeed, but I cannot rest."  Aragorn took another step forward until he stood at Legolas' side.  Staring out across the grim, forbidding peaks of the Mountains of Moria, he found no words for the thoughts that kept him sleepless.

Legolas turned his head a fraction and a stray beam of moonlight slanted down upon his face, gleaming in his eyes.  "Mithrandir's loss is a grievous one; it wounded me more deeply than I have words to tell." 

"Our world is changed with his passing, Legolas, and whether we will it or not, we must change with it.  My entire life has been spent in waiting, in exile, and now…" Aragorn hesitated, but Legolas' calm gaze never wavered, compelling confidences.  "And now I know I have some great part to play, and I fear whether it will be for good or ill.  What if I am Isildur's Heir in more than just name?  His blood flows through my veins, and maybe his weaknesses also.  Elrond fears that it may be so – I see it in his eyes every time he looks at me."

"Yet Arwen, daughter of Elrond, has faith in you.  The eyes of love may see deeper than her father's."  Legolas raised one hand and laid it briefly against Aragorn's cheek.  The Elf's long fingers were warm against Aragorn's face and he felt a sudden yearning to call back that touch, as if it might have the power to soothe the fear and grief that lay on him.

"Maybe.  But I do not know if I am ready to face what lies ahead, and I am ashamed to admit that I mourn the loss of Gandalf's leadership near as much as I mourn the passing of a dear friend."

"There is no shame in that admission, Aragorn."  Legolas leaned forward, and his lips lightly touched Aragorn's cheek.

It was such a simple, innocent gesture of reassurance, and yet it served to unlock a fierce, aching need that until this moment Aragorn had not suspected he owned.  Without thinking, he seized hold of Legolas' head with both hands and crushed his mouth down onto the Elf's.  There was nothing gentle in his kiss; he poured into it all his pain, desperation and longing.  For one long, agonizing moment, Legolas was unresponsive, and then his mouth sought Aragorn's in return.

Legolas tasted as sweet and strong as mead, and Aragorn's thirst rose like the tide, drowning every shred of reason with a wild wanting.  His hands swept past the tightly woven braids and snared the sleek length of hair, deepening the kiss.  Overwhelmed by desire, he backed Legolas against the tree, pressing his body hard against the Elf's.

Legolas gasped, and at that slight sound, Aragorn regained a little of his senses.  He lifted his mouth and slackened his grip.  "I did not mean ... forgive me, Legolas." What had he been doing?  Did he really imagine that he could ravish an Elven prince up against the nearest tree?  Lives had been lost for less cause. He stared into Legolas' face, suddenly frightened of what he would read there.

But when Legolas met Aragorn's gaze, the flame that glittered in the dark sheen of his eyes owed nothing to anger and all to arousal. "There is nothing to forgive.  You seek from me warmth and love to ease the sorrow that lies like a shadow on your heart, and I am more than willing to give what you ask, for in this matter I find that your desire mirrors my own."

Legolas twisted, as liquid in his movements as any cat, and Aragorn was in turn thrust up against the tree.  The Elf might lack the muscled bulk of a Man, but his strength was still considerable, like the elusive force of water.  Aragorn was helpless against it, yet resistance never entered his mind.

"You spoke truly, Aragorn, when you said that our world is changed – and which of us knows what tomorrow will bring?  I grieve for what has been lost, and for what I fear will be lost.  Therefore I say to you that if we may bring some brief measure of joy to each other now, then it would be folly to deny ourselves such comfort."

Aragorn drew in his breath as Legolas leaned forward.  He parted his lips, but Legolas' quicksilver kisses fell first on his face, taking such obvious delight in the sensation of rough beard against soft lips and tongue as to still all thought of protest in Aragorn's mind.  And when Legolas finally laid siege to Aragorn's mouth, such was the enchanting fierceness of the assault that Aragorn began to wonder if he was still awake or if he had fallen into some dream where desires newly acknowledged took on a startling life of their own.

He placed his hands around Legolas' waist, half-expecting him to vanish like morning mist in the sun, but Legolas was reassuringly solid and real, and Aragorn slid his hands down the firm flanks in wordless delight. Then, trailing a line of kisses down to Aragorn's throat, Legolas' lips brushed against the Elfstone, the gift of Arwen, and Aragorn grew still. 

Legolas lifted his mouth. "This is no betrayal. What may pass between us now alters nothing between you and she."

Aragorn slowly raised a hand and closed his fingers around the Elfstone.  It pained him to realise how readily he had put Arwen from his mind in his desire for solace.  "It is no light matter for me, Legolas."

"Nor should it be.  But you know as well as I that when Elves share their bodies to assuage grief or pain, they neither make a pledge nor break one that is already given." Legolas' slender fingers stroked down Aragorn's face, the quiet intensity of his expression pledging the truth of his words. 

Aragorn closed his eyes.  If this was truly no betrayal, then what sense did it make to refuse what was so generously offered?  The warm feel of the lips now pressing against his skin in long, slow kisses was balm to his grief, and Legolas' tenderness as much as his persistence had set a fresh urgency rising in Aragorn's body.  With a small sigh of acceptance, he released the Elfstone and let all thought of Arwen pass with it.  Claiming Legolas' mouth with his own, Aragorn lost himself in the heat of desire rekindled.

With a murmur of approval, Legolas settled close in his arms as easily and naturally as if it was meant that he should be there.  The fine fabrics of his clothing were smooth against Aragorn's hands as he stroked up and down the strong curve of the Elf's spine, but it was Legolas' skin that Aragorn wanted to feel, craving to touch every inch of it under his calloused fingers.  Greedily, he sought a way between the layers of clothing but found, to his frustration, that the garments fit as tight as a glove.

Evidently amused at this clumsy attempt to undress him, Legolas lifted his mouth from Aragorn's and breathed into his ear, "Impatient Man!" 

"I would see you naked, Legolas, and that before I am much older, if you please."

Legolas stepped back from him, his eyes glinting brighter than light on water, his lips curved in a smile as sweet as it was shameless.

Aragorn's mouth grew dry as he watched Legolas disrobe in front of him.  Dexterous fingers making swift work of the fastenings to his clothing, Legolas discarded each garment with a careless elegance.  Even amongst a race renowned for its fairness, Legolas' beauty was dazzling, and he knew it.  How could he not?  No doubt there had been many over the years who had delighted to pay him pretty compliments and many, too, who had been eager to pleasure him and to instruct him in the ways of love.  The wonder was not that each movement Legolas made embodied sensuality, but rather that he kept still a naturalness that graced him beyond all reckoning.

When finally Legolas stood naked before Aragorn, it was as if the night sky itself paid homage to his beauty.  The moon's rays stroked the supple limbs and strong curves of his body, anointing the pale fall of hair with a sheen of silver, and starlight found an answering fire in the dark of his eyes.  For a long moment, Aragorn could do nothing more than stare in silent awe at the gift he was being offered.  Next to this glorious creature, he felt utterly graceless, unworthy to even think the thoughts he did, let alone to consider acting upon them. 

And then Legolas broke the spell.  He smiled, reached out a hand and drew Aragorn into his arms. 

They stood for a long moment locked in embrace, Aragorn's head resting upon Legolas' shoulder.  The Elf 's scent was that of the forest, and each time Aragorn drew breath he inhaled the clear green fragrance with a sharp sense of delight.  Days and nights in the close, dark stink of Moria had left his senses all but deadened, and this was pure refreshment to his soul.  And so, too, was his acute awareness of the lithe body pressed close against his, each curve and line demanding his immediate attention. 

Legolas' skin was sleeker and smoother than any Man's, but it cloaked a body that was hard muscle, bone and sinew, for there was nothing soft or delicate about the Elf's form beyond its outward appearance.  The contrast was all the more compelling for being so marked, and Aragorn's lips and fingers explored, mapping the unfamiliar territory with mounting absorption, engaged on a pattern of worship as focussed as it was fervent. 

They had not spoken since Legolas pulled Aragorn into his arms.  Words had not been necessary; their mutual passion was told instead with lips, tongues and fingers and in such ways as left no room for misunderstandings.  But now Legolas tilted his head so that his smooth cheek was laid against Aragorn's own, and whispered in a voice gone ragged with desire, "Do you wish to take me, Aragorn?" 

Only someone of much sterner heart and less pressing need than Aragorn could have denied it.  "If you will allow me."

Legolas' breath was hot and hungry against Aragorn's neck.  "Gladly, and as soon as it pleases you."

Hampered by a growing urgency of his own, Aragorn began to hurriedly remove his way-worn clothing.  His task was hardly made any easier by the fact that he could scarcely endure to tear his eyes away from Legolas. 

The Elf was leaning back against the tree, watching Aragorn through half-lidded eyes.  No longer did the moon present Legolas as a remote figure of seemingly untouchable beauty, for this time its silver light caressed an aroused and eager body, pearling the fine sheen of sweat that lay upon his skin.  It lingered with flattering intensity on the enchanting discomposure of the Elf's perfectly formed face, shining on the parted lips and the darker flush of heated blood in his cheeks.  At this moment, there was a warmth and vitality to Legolas that not only rendered him desirable beyond all previous measure, but also put loving him within the reach of mere mortals. 

Or at least so Aragorn believed, and he continued to believe it until the moment came when he was finally naked himself and facing Legolas.  Only then, confronted at last with the attainable, did Aragorn doubt once more where his desires had led him and to wonder if he had not, indeed, embarked on a foolishness out of all reason. 

"I fear I reek of Moria, of the stink of Orcs."  His voice was a harsh, uncomfortable whisper.

"Do you think that matters to me?  The stain on you now is of sweat and tears from a noble battle: I would not reject you because you bear those tokens still." 

"I do not mean to be cruel, only considerate of your pleasure."

"I would have you lie with me, Aragorn, for my pleasure will be to feel your flesh in mine: I cannot put it plainer."

His hands eager and certain, Legolas pushed Aragorn down against the earth.  Aragorn closed his eyes, all thoughts of doubt finally stilled in his mind as the hard strength of Legolas' body covered him, ardent and possessive, and the naked skin pressed close and warm against his own.  The sleekness of that skin sliding against the rough hair dappling Aragorn's body was arousing enough to set every nerve on fire.  Each time Legolas leaned close over him, his pale hair brushed against Aragorn, almost as if striving to wipe away the stain of Moria with its fresh, clean scent of rain and leaves. 

Gentle fingers glided over Aragorn's body, soft as the velvet pads of a kitten, only to turn unexpectedly sharp and wicked, nails briefly scratching like a flash of claws.  One moment Legolas' lips and tongue would tease Aragorn's flesh, delicate as the light lap of water, and the next the Elf's mouth would engulf him, surging strong and fierce as a breaking wave, shaking sensation after sensation through Aragorn's body until he felt as if he would drown in it.  When his hips jerked upwards, blindly demanding that final ecstasy of release, Legolas drew back, laughing lightly as Aragorn moaned in protest at such tender torment. 

"Legolas…!"

"So now it is my turn to make you beg!  You must be patient a little longer, for I have not forgotten your altogether admirable desire to consider my pleasure as well as your own.  Are you ready now to take me?"

Implicit within the repeated request was the seeking of a last reassurance that Aragorn would not once more be troubled by further doubts as to his worthiness or the rightness of their action.  His willpower sorely tried, Aragorn was barely able to manage a strangled groan of assent, but this was evidently a more than adequate answer for Legolas smiled suddenly, like a hunter who finally sees a much-desired target fall within his sights.

A purposeful light in his eyes, he cast about amongst his discarded clothing with one hand, finally finding and holding up a small elegantly tapered bottle of green glass about as long as his fingers. 

Taking advantage of this brief respite to recover some much-needed self-control, Aragorn regarded the bottle with bemusement.  "I shall not ask why you carry such an item with you."

"I am glad, for now I do not have to refuse to tell you."  Legolas' reply was so delightfully impudent that it was impossible to take offence at it. He unstopped the bottle and tipped it forward, spilling some of its contents in a pale, oily trickle onto Aragorn's hands.  With a slow shiver of delight, Aragorn smoothed the wood-scented liquid onto his eager flesh. 

Legolas replaced the stopper in the bottle and carefully tucked it back amongst his garments.  Then he rolled gracefully onto his back, raising his knees and parting them, a small smile playing about his mouth.

Aragorn found it utterly impossible to resist such an invitation.  Mutely obedient, he knelt between the arched thighs and slid the tip of one finger, no more, into the dark heat of Legolas' body.  He took the utmost care, not wanting to cause harm or to move too quickly for the Elf's comfort, but Legolas seemed to pay little heed to such consideration.  With an eager moan, he pushed his hips forward so fiercely that Aragorn's finger slid inside him wholly.

"More!" Legolas gasped.

"I do not want to hurt you."

"You will not!" Legolas' eyes locked on Aragorn's, clearly signalling his desire for these most intimate invasions to be pressed more forcefully.  Aragorn could not refuse him.  He let a second and then a third finger join the first as he sought, and then stroked the secret place hidden deep inside Legolas' body.  A long, sweet shudder ran through the Elf.  Mouth falling open on a wordless cry of delight, his body trembled in helpless abandon at each firm thrust of Aragorn's fingers while his own hands, which had lain tight-clenched at his sides, now strove urgently to touch his own aroused flesh.  In response, Aragorn drew back, catching hold of Legolas' wrists and pinning them to the ground. 

"Impatient Elf!"  Being privileged to view the usually composed and self-assured Legolas writhing frantically against his fingers like some creature possessed was an intoxicating experience, and one that Aragorn intended to drink in for as long as possible. 

Legolas gasped a swift Elvish imprecation at the teasing rebuke and flexed his wrists, breaking free of Aragorn's grip with scarcely any visible effort.  With a lightning turn of speed, he pitched Aragorn over onto his back and straddled him, eyes glittering.  Then, supple as a cat, he sank his body down upon Aragorn's.

With a gasp of shock and sheer delight, Aragorn arched instinctively up to meet him and Legolas returned thrust for thrust, urging him on when he would otherwise have feared he drove too deep or too hard until, finally, Aragorn could hold back no longer.  He surrendered himself to the heat and passion he craved.

Violent and sweet, fierce and tender, this was a wild coupling, and it owed nothing to any romance spoken of in old tales.  This was something altogether more untamed and ancient, the like of which Aragorn had never even suspected existed.  The link he forged now with Legolas was one wrought of pure, blind instinct, penetrating bone-deep, shaping itself around each muscle, nerve and sinew, patterning into their skin as they moved as one. 

The relentless call of that elemental pulse drove out all thought and reason.  Oblivious to anything except each other, they responded with an instinctive obedience to the dictates of the flesh.  Senses sharpened and gathered in the slap of skin on skin, the sharp gasps of pleasure-pain as their bodies rose and fell in a fevered rhythm.  The hot stink of sex mingled with the scent of the earth, of things that live, grow and die.  One slender hand clung to Aragorn's own as he caressed Legolas; the other gripped Aragorn's hip fiercely as if he meant never to let him go. 

Head thrown back, glorying at each wild thrust of Aragorn's flesh inside him, Legolas began to chant, the sound falling at once both soft and sharp into the night air.  When the final ecstasy claimed him, shaking his body with wave after wave of aching pleasure, he sang his rapture in a low crescendo of such stark passion that it sent Aragorn spiralling helplessly into his own release.

His heart still pounding, Aragorn slumped back against the ground, the earth cold and damp under his back.  Then he was wrapped once more in the strong warmth of the Elf's arms.  Legolas' skin, pressed against his own, was hot and glistening, his hair spilling down upon Aragorn's chest like tangled silk.  Aragorn began to comb his fingers through the damp strands until they lay spread like a fine curtain against his cooling skin. 

Legolas seemed to be content to be petted so, settling his head against Aragorn's broad chest, and turning sideways so that he could look up at the sky.  The wind had torn away the last veils of cloud and the stars shone clear and bright amidst the darkness.  Legolas gazed up, and the light in his eyes was no less brilliant than the stars strewn in glittering ribbons above both their heads.

"See how they shine, Aragorn!  Always they remind us of the light that endures, no matter how dark may be the paths that we must tread.  Are they not beautiful?"

"Beautiful indeed," Aragorn murmured, a smile on his lips as Legolas slid his gaze back towards him.  The brief flicker of amusement in Legolas' eyes indicated that he knew full well that Aragorn's expression of admiration was not for the stars at all, but was directed towards something much closer at hand. 

Then, quite suddenly, Legolas faltered.  As he looked into Aragorn's face, his eyes were troubled and a frown now marred the smooth perfection of his features.

"Legolas?" Aragorn's expression altered in turn, uncertain what the Elf saw that should so perturb him.

"This cannot be!"  There was no light now in Legolas' eyes; instead, they reflected a curious distress that was painful to look upon.  "Ah, Aragorn, I fear I have done us both a disservice in this!  What we shared here should bind us no more closely to each other than our friendship already has."

"Nor does it." Now with at least an inkling of what was so troubling the Elf, Aragorn made haste to reassure him.  "Legolas, if it seemed I looked upon you with greater affection than you felt fitting, then I hope you will forgive me."  Aragorn lifted one hand and clasped it around the delicate beauty of the Elfstone as it rose and fell on his breast.  "You said this would be no betrayal, and you spoke truly.  My heart remains pledged as it was before." 

"I would be grieved, indeed, if through my actions I had caused your bond to be severed, and I am glad it is not so."

Yet Legolas' words ran counter to his expression, which remained strangely uneasy.  When Aragorn reached up with one hand and slid his fingers through the trailing fall of pale hair, Legolas shivered visibly, and a flush stained his cheeks.  He twisted his body away from Aragorn's, and rose swiftly to his feet.

Aragorn stood up himself, suddenly chilled in both body and soul, as if in one moment he had been stripped of not just Legolas' physical warmth but also of his affection, and for no reason that he could discern. 

Keeping his eyes averted from Aragorn, Legolas gathered up a handful of leaves, and wiped himself clean.  Then he took up his clothing and dressed with what would have seemed like indecent haste in anyone other than an Elf.  Aragorn followed his example, but his confusion at Legolas' behaviour caused him to move a good deal more slowly and clumsily than was usual.  The silence between himself and Legolas deepened until Aragorn could bear it no longer.

"Legolas, my heart was lightened by the love we shared, just as you intended.  Please – do not turn all this on its head for the sake of a simple confusion."

"A simple confusion," Legolas repeated.  He had moved back, and his face was veiled now by the shadow of the trees, his eyes a quick glimmer in the darkness as they turned fleetingly towards Aragorn.  "Ah, would that you were right and my fears unfounded!"

"Do you believe that I do not know my own heart?"  Aragorn queried sharply.  "Or is it that you think I am lying to you, and to myself?"

"No, I do not think that at all – it is my own heart that I do not know nearly as well as I imagined!  Forgive me, Aragorn."

"How can I not forgive you?"  Aragorn asked more gently.  "You gave freely of yourself at my asking, and I am not careless of your generosity."

"You are far kinder than I deserve, for I must seem to you now the very spirit of contrariety some claim the Elves to be.  One moment I am content to lie with you, and yet the next I dart away as if you repel me.  But it is not so, Aragorn." 

"Legolas –"

Legolas laid one finger upon Aragorn's lips, silencing him. "We must return to the Fellowship."  Then the tip of that finger stroked delicately across Aragorn's lips as if to seal them closed on any words of dissent.  "Some things, my friend, are better left unsaid." 

~THE END~ 


End file.
